Scorched Earth
by San Negative
Summary: Natsu isn't a dragon slayer. By a slight change of fate, Natsu wasn't found by Igneel, leading someone else to take his place. This single change affects the lives of many, and it isn't exactly for the better. Non-Magic Natsu. AU


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The raven-haired woman stood up amongst the corpses like a beacon of death. Around her was a torching inferno that devoured all and left nothing but scorched earth and ash. The ash and smoke of the dead left onto the night sky as quickly as they burned, and only her body was left - and it itself was consumed by a black cloak that trailed her imposing, yet beautiful frame. The black elegant cloak followed her as she walked among the bodies, what was once a group of ten or so, and left a trail of burning steps that followed her every move.

The killer stood tall, and nothing stood out so much as the horns that protruded out of her scalp and curled outwards in large loops. Except perhaps for her white scaly scarf and her long cloak who where both drenched with the invited blood of all who once stood before her. It painted her anew, like the devil's own artwork, his own child.

And the stench of the incinerated dead appeared to be child's only companion in that burning field, and it brought no remorse, no thought or disgust to her, and even if it did, the smell would be gone after the bodies turned into ash.

Not that it even bothered her.

She just didn't care. They were simply in her way. Like always.

A group of bandits, a traveling wizard, a trading merchant, a baker, bounty hunters, man and women, scum, _humans_. All off them and more. It didn't matter to her. She would burn them **all**.

And so, she turned to leave the burnt field, her appetite fulfilled. Until her green-eyes drifted on what was a small brown bag that belonged to the once alive.

She walked over, and unceremoniously threw the contents on the ground. A magazine, matches, an apple, a few utilities, and a piece of paper all flew out. She took the apple, and picked the dirty paper of the ground. The rest were deemed unimportant.

Her eyes drifted onto the paper. Nothing at first, like always. Then something that was never shown, was shown.

Confusion.

Her eyes widened, and suddenly she could not breathe, the apple fell. She was like a statue as she stared at the piece of paper in her bloodstained hand

She let the air take it.

Her eyes portrayed no emotion. No remorse. Nothing. Empty.

She blinked.

* * *

And suddenly, when her eyes opened again, the world was the same. Blood and fire and nothing. But her hands were different, much smaller. The woman was now a child, and now on her knees, and she felt hot tears run down her cheeks and snot form down her nose and mouth.

Around her was the bodies of her parents, cut and burning in what was a house fire. Their blood on her hands, she knew what she had done, and she laughed. The wide pleading eyes of her brother could not comprehend what had occurred, nor the fire or the blood nor why mother wouldn't wake up. He started crying and screaming, begging for mother. She remembered holding a knife in front of her as she looked at her brother.

And then all was black.

She could not remember what occurred in that moment. Except for that right after she awakened far away in a field. Soon after that, there was Igneel.

Now those scenes played itself a hundred-fold inside her, the screams, the warm blood, the smell of their burning home. The burning dead.

But now, now she knew that on that single day, more than a decade ago- she did not kill them all. Her brother, the **_bastard_**, remained

He... **He remained.**

_Somehow_.

And she now knew, all thanks to one single lousy picture.

She would burn him to crisp, her hands would slit his throat with the same knife she killed the rest of them.

That same knife would hang in front of her, and then the thoughts of how she would die begin. It called onto her.

Death was her importance.

And when the blade softly touched her neck and ended it all, she would see them all, one last time... once she closed her eyes.

Blink.

* * *

She did not see them.

But a blade held itself at her throat, a random discarded metal her hands had drifted on too, that surely belonged to the dead.

The fire in the field had long stopped, and all that remained was scorched earth and smoke.

Her conflicted face shifted onto nothing, no sign of disturbance of the memories that had consumed her like it had done so many times before.

Her eyes were blank.

She slowly released a breath she had unknowingly carried, and threw the chunk of a blade away, as it exploded in a million pieces of hot shrapnel.

She stood up and carried on.

Her face filled with slight contemplation, she looked over the night sky. Onto the stars and the moon. Onto something more. As if looking for something.

And then, unexpectedly, her usual uncaring design transfixed into something far, far more sinister.

A malicious grin adored her face, a hideous beautiful thing, before she chuckled harshly. That soft horrible sound went long onto the night. It was an awful sound that resounded in that black and burnt field. When she finished, she knew what was to come.

She slowly walked out of the burnt smoking field, covered in blood, smiling peacefully. Like she had done so, hundreds and hundreds of times.

Unknown to her, was the casted shadow of her figure over the field by the moon light.

And if anyone was alive to see it, they would see the form of demon covering the black land.

* * *

Far, far away did the dirty, bloodied paper go before it caught on fire. And on it, burning slowly, was a rather large sum for the capture of one pinked haired, **Salamander**.

* * *

-**Scorched Earth-**

-Chapter 1-

-The Rouge, the Salamander, and the Dead-

* * *

Not so far away in the lands of Fiore, in a certain inn, in a darkly lit room laid one Salamander. The man was sleeping comfortably, with a large blanket on him.

And suddenly, the loud sound of an alarm resonated without mercy in the messy room that the Salamander inhabited. It trailed harsly among his room, from his well-worn sheets where he layed, to the numerous stacks of books scattered around, to the large pile of clothing thrown on top of a large bag on a couch, and to the odd belonging here and there laying lazily alongside water bottles and food boxes.

The sound stopped rummaging the room when the Salamander awokened, as he haistly shut the annoying sound off. He threw the device somewhere in a small childish fit, and begin cursing Zeref, whoever that was.

Groaning, he took off the warm blanket and sat on the bed, uncovering the body of a sleeping woman laying right next to him, who merely groaned and covered herself in the blanket, snuggling into mindless sleep. Another of his so called 'conquests' , he paid no attention, he couldn't even remember her name. He continued on standing up.

The Salamander's sleepy and almost naked form was displayed to all as he stretched and regained consciousness, and it showcased all the muscle well-built due to all the exercise and training he had undergone all these past few years since he left his past home.

Very much indeed, he seemed almost normal.

And he would've been perfectly normal if it wasn't for the fact that He had pink hair with spiky bangs that framed his face well, with a long ponytail braid that was enclosed in cloth.

He looked almost normal, and he would've been if it wasn't for a red fairy tattoo that seemed to move on his arm's skin and hung on him almost possessively.

Yes. Yes indeed, he was quite normal.

He yawned. His dark eyes trailed to the room as his mind begin to run. The current date dawned on him, and soon the events which where to transpire would take place. This knowledge hung on him ominously and he frowned. He realized he had something around ten or so minutes and none to spare.

He stood up.

_Today was the day._

Determination thumped in his bloodstream coldly, suddenly he became a machine, and order took the room. There would be no going back, it was too late for him. There really has never been no choice for him.

He started by grabbing the brown bag under the clothes pile and placed it on his bed. Then everything in his room was analyzed and promptly organized and stuffed in the trunk. Book of all sorts- nonfiction, fiction, the wizardry, and the science where thrown alongside the freshly cleaned clothes pile, the random possession here and then, all the bed sheets and pillows, the small couch and a mini fridge, all of these basically flew in the abyss that was his large brown bag.

Trash was thrown away in a garbage bag and disappeared to hell. There was no mercy, and everything was cleaned twice and stacked neatly. It was truly such a scary thing to see all the chaos disappear in a small brown bag that was decorated with random stickers of various colors and designs that resembled a rainbow of chaos. It was expensive for a reason, the bloody thing was worth a good fortune, and far too many missions.

And soon, all was gone and not a trace of the Salamander was left except for his bag and the girl sleeping peacefully in the bed, unaware of what had occurred just seconds ago. He was nice enough to leave her a pillow and blanket, but even then, he should've left a note or something. He didn't however. Bastard.

The man called Salamander proceeded to take a cold shower and finish the ordinary deeds. He dressed in the appeal that was not found in this side of the world, but for the far western lands of Alakitasia and beyond. Robes suited for the harsh desert sun and sand, of brown color and red swirling designs that protected him from all he expected, and he needed nothing else.

He attached a red sheathed sword onto his belt, and he was done. He wore nothing of special note besides that.

He checked the time. It was time. He then grabbed his bag.

_Today was the day. _

He had planned it a hundred times in his head. Over and over again.

He would return.

* * *

Hours later,

The strangely dressed man known as Salamander stepped on a paper uncaringly and calmly made his way down a crowd in the town of Magnolia. The man came in in way of the entrance of guild, the letters of Fairy Tail displayed proudly to all.

The figure, with a look of contemplation, made his way inside. As his hands touched the doors, he stopped.

_Today, is the day._ He had counted the days, the weeks, the months in which he would return to his past home. He waited for this day. He _bled_, he _trained_, he _learnt_ for this day. His whole past few years were built for this single day.

So why was it, that now that he was here, he felt nothing?

No thrill. No hate. No resolve. Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

But why? Why couldn't he bring himself to burn this place down to cinders? Why couldn't he hate this place?

He had made plans on how when he would return, he would burn it to cinders, and finish what he had started, and kill **her**. She who took everything from him.

The Salamander sighed. Thinking like this would get him nowhere, he knew that.

He knew the reasons. He really did. He could never hate this place, who had given him a home, he could never even hate them, who gave him family, nevertheless her, who took nothing from him, and gave him friendship and compassion.

The Salamander took a large breath, and entered.

It had begun.

* * *

Consider this a prologue. Just to catch your attention.

This story will be around 15-20 chapters. Updated monthly or less.

Aside from clothing and fighting (magic), I decided to keep Natsu mostly the same in his mannerisms and actions. He won't be too oc.


End file.
